


they don't love you (like i love you)

by kemboja



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Breathplay, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Iwaizumi Hajime's Harem, M/M, Marking, Mentions of the Japan National Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25647139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemboja/pseuds/kemboja
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime (27), athletic trainer, just wants to be able to call Kageyama Tobio his boyfriend.Kageyama Tobio (25), professional athlete, wants his teammates to know that Hajime ishis.Beneath this bump holds Tobio’s vocal cords and he has enough training to know that this is a delicate spot. His hand shifts, until he has his thumb and fingers against the carotid arteries on both sides of Tobio’s neck. It’s almost obscene — the contrast between his rough, bronzed hands and the graceful figure of his lover’s neck.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 17
Kudos: 290





	they don't love you (like i love you)

**Author's Note:**

> title from hold up (beyonce) just because it showed up on shuffle

It is rare for them to have an evening together, devoid of volleyball. 

Training a national team is hard work, and is made even more difficult when half the team seems to vie for his attention. While he appreciates drinking with Miya and Sakusa and the occasional dinners with Ushijima, sometimes Hajime just wants to go home with his… Well. He isn’t quite sure what they are. _Boyfriend_ seems too juvenile of a term and _partner_ too committed. 

( _Lover,_ he thinks. He’d never say it out loud, though, would never risk scaring Tobio off with such a heavy word.)

It also doesn’t help that Tobio is unfailingly devoted to his intense training regimen. Sometimes Hajime is conflicted between being happy as his athletic trainer or annoyed that his lover is spending all his free time at the gymnasium or the court. In his previous relationships, Hajime had no problem asking his partner out for dinner or a movie or even some quality time at home but Tobio is a different beast altogether. 

Hajime had taken care to take hesitant steps, soft gestures. He does not call Tobio his boyfriend, does not react if Tobio says he’s single and he lets it slide if Tobio slips away from Hajime’s bed in the middle of the night to go back to his apartment. There’s no reason to break this fragile peace just because he’s _impatient._

If this were any other night, Hajime would probably be at a bar, absent-mindedly laughing at one of Miya’s jokes while secretly checking his phone for texts from Tobio to find none. But tonight, Tobio’s been warned against overworking by one of the older trainers so Hajime has him all to himself. 

They had a quiet dinner earlier, Hajime taking it upon himself to cook something healthy (because he is still responsible for Tobio, even off-hours) and delicious (because Tobio is the type to only care about _sustenance_ , rather than _food_ and that offends him deeply). He isn’t a great cook, and making pork curry rice entirely from scratch is hard but it was worth it to see Tobio’s eyes light up. 

Now, they’re on the couch, watching some sitcom rerun. Or at least, Hajime is. Tobio is sitting against his side, legs slung over Hajime’s lap and hands idly playing with Hajime’s shirt. This must be what having a cat is like, Hajime thinks. The relatively quiet moment is interrupted by the loud buzz of Hajime’s phone. He grabs it from where it was on the coffee table and checks his messages. Tobio rests his head against the crook of Hajime’s shoulder, lips lightly brushing his neck and it only mildly distracts Hajime as he types out a quick reply. 

“What was it?”

“Just Hinata asking if I’m free to do some spotting.”

“Say no,” Tobio mumbles into his neck. “You can’t go.”

“I know,” Hajime puts his phone on silent and sets it aside. “I’m with you.”

His phone buzzes again — once, twice, three times. He ignores it and hopes Hinata will take the hint. Tobio’s shifted, fully sitting on Hajime’s lap now like he isn’t 6 foot 2. It’s kind of cute, though, how Tobio doesn’t fully fit in his lap. Hajime brushes Tobio’s back with his knuckles, somewhat pleased with his lover’s rare affectionate mood. His phone buzzes again. It can’t be Hinata, so it might be work. Hajime reaches out for it only for his hand to be enveloped by Tobio’s, instead. 

“Don’t answer that.”

His brow furrows. “It might be work —”

“It isn’t,” Tobio says curtly. Hajime wonders how he knows that. He relents, though, because if it was important, they would have called. And maybe he’s a tiny bit distracted by the way Tobio is grinding down on his lap. Tobio looks at him, gaze a little hooded. “I want to go to our room.”

Hajime’s brain stutters. _Our._ He doesn’t realise he hasn’t said anything until Tobio slides off his lap and stands to his full height. Tobio takes off his shirt and then Hajime’s distracted _again_ by the sudden onslaught of that pale, muscled body that it takes him a few seconds to realise Tobio had left him alone in the living room, with his shirt on Hajime’s lap. He grips the black shirt. _Tobio_ had invited _him._

He walks to their (their, their, _their_ ) bedroom to find Tobio, naked and laid out on their bed, knees raised and feet firmly planted on the bed. Tobio sees him, raises an eyebrow and spreads his legs even wider. Hajime swallows. What most people wouldn’t expect of Tobio is that his body is maddeningly flexible in ways that benefit him on the court — and benefits Hajime in their bedroom. 

Hajime peels off his shirt, lets it drop to the floor and settles between Tobio’s legs. He presses a kiss at Tobio’s navel, where the dark, downy hair starts and works his way upwards. He nips at Tobio’s nipples, sucks on it until it turns a tempting shade of red. When he looks up, he sees Tobio biting down on his lower lip to stifle his sounds. He tugs Tobio’s lip away from his teeth with his thumb and says, “Don’t.”

Tobio purses his lips, petulant but doesn’t bite it down. A compromise. Hajime mouths at the sharp angle of Tobio’s collarbone next and Tobio groans. That’s what he wanted to hear. All of Tobio’s little bitten-off groans and sighs and moans — soft, in the beginning, but louder as he surrenders that infamous control, bit by bit. Hajime thinks having Tobio yield in any capacity must be better than anything else in the world. He understands now, why people go to such lengths just to watch Tobio fall before them on the court. 

(He doesn’t care about other people and their rivalries with his lover but in _this_ specific capacity, he wants to be the only one seeing Tobio surrender.)

Hajime is still nibbling his way up Tobio’s neck when Tobio drags his face up and slots their mouths together for a kiss. Hajime does not complain. Tobio’s kisses are sweet and he craves them like a smoker craves the first drag. He thinks of these kisses at work, where he should be paying attention to anything _but_ the lines of Tobio’s legs— the legs now wrapped around him. It is a long while until they part, a string of saliva connecting their mouths. Hajime can already feel Tobio’s cock against his stomach and is contemplating putting his mouth somewhere else when Tobio speaks.

“Choke me.”

He says it like he says anything else, bluntly, with the conviction of a king. Tobio's eyes are bright, gunmetal-blue in the darkness of his bedroom. Hajime feels his palms grow hot, where they are pressed against the sides of Tobio’s waist. The words sink in slowly, and when they do, they hit him like a ton of bricks. Tobio wants him — his hands, to _choke_ him. 

“What?”

He breathes out the question rather than says it. There is a pause, and he wonders whether Tobio had even heard it at all. But then, Tobio opens his mouth, tongue peeking out as if biding his time and says it again, “Choke me.”

“I can’t —”

“ _Please.”_

Tobio does not say please, does not beg very often. Later, Hajime will think this is what broke him. He brings a shaky hand to the length of Tobio’s neck — long and pale and _vulnerable_ — and settles it over the rise of Tobio’s laryngeal prominence. Beneath this bump holds Tobio’s vocal cords and he has enough training to know that this is a delicate spot. His hand shifts, until he has his thumb and fingers against the carotid arteries on both sides of Tobio’s neck. It’s almost obscene — the contrast between his rough, bronzed hands and the graceful figure of his lover’s neck. 

“Two taps. Or kick me off,” he mutters. Tobio nods. Hajime knows, in the back of his mind where his conscience lies, that there was no way in hell that was enough discussion. These sort of things required lengthy conversations and explicit boundaries but oddly enough, his conscience is quiet tonight. It has been quiet ever since Tobio had looked up at him, low-lidded and _sultry_ , almost and invited him on top of his gorgeous, willing body. 

Hajime squeezes; a hesitant, gentle pressure at first. It isn’t enough. It’s him running away, tail tucked between his legs and Tobio knows that just as well as he does. Tobio glares at him and the legs wrapped around Hajime’s waist tightens as if showing him the correct pressure to be exerted on Tobio's throat. He hesitates, still. 

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

Hajime wants to ask, _how would you know that_ but the expression on Tobio’s face leaves little room for argument. Hajime presses again, digging his fingers deeper into the muscles of Tobio’s neck. The effect is instantaneous; Tobio's legs go slack, hanging weakly off of Hajime’s hips. Those blue eyes go hazy, like mist in the early mornings and Tobio _smiles._

Or, he tries to, at least. The corners of his lips are quirked up but he’s trying to breathe, his throat pulsing beneath Hajime’s palm. His arms are limp beside him and other than his heavy breathing, Tobio is not fighting back. He is as pliant as a kitten picked up by the scruff of their neck.

Hajime lets go, and Tobio gasps, high and needy. His shoulders shake and it’s a beautiful sight; the broad shoulders and chest carrying Japan’s pride currently twitching in Hajime’s bed. 

“Again,” Tobio commands and again, Hajime acquiesces. He holds on for longer this time and still, there is no panic in Tobio’s face. Tobio’s eyes are glazed over, tears forming in their corners — big, fat drops threatening to spill along his face and still. Hajime’s thumb slips, accidentally pressing a little higher and Tobio’s mouth drops open. The sound that escapes it is ugly — a stuttering breath, a broken gasp and Hajime wants so badly to ignore how hard it makes him. Tobio can probably feel Hajime’s erection, and it’s shameful, how aroused he is by Tobio struggling to breathe because of him.

Tobio lifts his hand, a little shakily and Hajime thinks, _this is it. He’s done. We’re going to stop._ The two taps never come. Instead, those long fingers wrap around Hajime’s wrist, weakly pushing it on his own throat. Tobio does not let go of Hajime’s wrist, even when Hajime loosens his grip. He brings a palm up to his mouth, pressing open-mouthed kisses to it all while looking at Hajime directly in the eyes. Tobio lifts his hips, just a bit, and bumps his cock against the tent in Hajime’s sweatpants. It hadn’t softened, not at all and Hajime understands it now.

Suddenly, Hajime’s earlier concern about whether or not they are _boyfriends_ seems childish. Tobio trusts him this much to let Hajime hold his breath — his life — beneath Hajime’s palm. It would be greedy of him to want anything more, with all that Tobio has given him at this moment.

Hajime feels sweat dripping down his temple and his pants (why was he still wearing them?) are embarrassingly tight. He isn’t the one being choked but he feels dizzy all the same. He repeats the motions — squeeze, release, squeeze — a few more times, always varying in duration. Tobio is flushed all over, and drooling and fuck. The heat in his belly grows, and he can’t help but grind his hips against Tobio’s cock. He feels a little sorry for it — red and leaking and if he were to be honest, mouthwatering. 

_You’re such a hypocrite, Iwa-chan. Telling me not to lay a hand on him — now look at you._

He silences that irritating voice inside his head and lets go, listens to Tobio gulp in the air and cough and mewl. “Hajime,” Tobio rasps, and _fuck_ , he must be really out of it if he’s calling Hajime by his first name with no honorifics. Tobio drags Hajime’s hand downwards, to his cock. “I need you.”

“Okay, Tobio,” he presses a soft kiss to the crown of Tobio’s head. “You did so well.”

He plants kisses all over Tobio’s face as his hand moves up and down the length of Tobio’s cock. His grip tightens, just a bit and Tobio throws his head back, moaning. Hajime’s gaze is drawn to that throat, to the angry marks blossoming on it. He uses his other hand to rub against them as if to smooth them away from existence. 

“I’m sorry, Tobio, you’re gonna have bruises tomorrow.”

“I want them,” Tobio murmurs, and Hajime is sure that come tomorrow, Tobio’s voice will be wrecked to all hell. “Want to be marked.”

“Shh, baby,” he hushes. “Let me take care of you.”

Tobio shakes his head fervently, and paws at the band of Hajime’s pants. It takes him a few tries to successfully pull them off, and Hajime’s aching cock bounces out. Tobio tries to wrap his hand around the both of them but Hajime swats his hand away, doing it himself. He jerks them off with short, abrupt motions — too desperate to prolong this even further. Maybe tomorrow Hajime will treat Tobio to soft and slow but tonight, he feels like he is at breaking point.

Hajime drops his head to the crook of Tobio’s shoulder and feels a hand playing with the hair at his nape. “Mark me,” Tobio pleads, with a voice so soft Hajime strains to hear him. “Make me yours.” 

It’s the second time he’s mentioned being _marked_ and had Hajime been in control of his brain cells, he would stop and ponder why. But he isn’t, so he bares his teeth and bites. He laps over it with his tongue after and bites again. Hajime brings his free hand to Tobio’s chest, to his neglected nipple and plays with it, pinching it harshly. 

It is the culmination of all those things that make Tobio come undone with his loudest moan of tonight. His back arches off the bed as he comes, fingers clenched around the sheets and Hajime dazedly watches Tobio’s wrecked body twitching in the aftermath of his climax. His hand on their cocks slows, not wanting to risk overstimulating Tobio but also unwilling to alleviate the pressure on his cock.

“I’m yours,” Tobio slurs. 

Hajime feels his ears burn and he’s grateful that the room is barely illuminated. He is sure that the blush is prominent, even on his tanned skin. He swallows and when he speaks, his voice so rough he almost doesn’t recognise it.

“Yeah, baby, you’re mine.”

While most people would melt into a puddle after an orgasm, it seems like Tobio tenses up when he comes to and sees Hajime still hard up against him. He pulls Hajime even closer and rolls his hips with an increasing sense of urgency. Tobio’s nails are short but somehow the bluntness of it is still intense when he’s digging them in Hajime’s back. “And you’re _mine_ ,” Tobio nearly snarls. “You’re not Miya-san’s, or Sakusa-san’s, or Hinata’s — you’re mine.”

That was what this was about? Tobio had thought he was interested in other people? Like Hajime wasn’t losing his goddamn mind every day about him? He loses his train of thought when Tobio bites his neck, the sensation a delicate balance of pain and pleasure. Tobio’s hand joins his, moving upwards from the base to the tip in rough strokes. Tobio’s forefinger lingers at the tip, at the pre-cum collecting there and he swipes some of it onto his finger.

Tobio’s hand leaves him, and Hajime resorts to fucking his own fist, chasing that approaching high. He watches, transfixed, as Tobio brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks Hajime’s pre-cum off his fingers.

Tobio’s eyes are sharp on him, predatory, as he drags those fingers out again, slick and gleaming from his saliva. The unbidden thought of Tobio sucking something else comes to his mind and Hajime curses, low and gruff. The tension at the base of his spine unravels, and he comes across Tobio’s stomach, painting the ridges there white, mixing in with Tobio’s cum.

Hajime drops to the bed, next to Tobio and tries not to freak out. He only lasts a second before failing tremendously. What the fuck was that? What the fuck happened? Did he hit his head and dream all that? He wordlessly reaches out for his discarded shirt, so he can wipe the drying cum off of Tobio’s stomach before they both forget and wake up to a disgusting mess on the sheets. He looks at Tobio, now sated, with his soft, black hair fanned out against the pillow and brings up the courage to ask.

“Why do you think I’d be interested in Miya? Or Hinata?”

“Because everyone wants you,” the younger man grumbles, rolling over on his side to cuddle into Hajime. “They’re always trying to get your attention and invite you to things and you _always_ say yes.”

He didn’t realise Tobio noticed what he did when they weren’t together. So they weren’t just acquaintances who frequently meet up to have sex. Hope blooms in his chest like cherry blossom in spring and he has to hide his smile before Tobio retreats back into his shell. Hajime kisses Tobio’s temple. “Tobio. You know I like _you,_ right? And that I’m,” he hesitates for a moment before deciding to throw caution into the wind, “Dating _you._ ”

“You never said,” Tobio yawns. “I didn’t want to — to push.”

Tobio’s wording makes him smile wryly. He and Hajime had been wary of the same thing. How funny to think he had walked into whatever the fuck this is thinking he had to be slow and steady, like a hunter with its prey. He had treated Tobio like a frightened rabbit only to forget, if anything, _he_ is the prey lured in by Tobio’s smile and his dedication and his, well, _everything_. He pushes Tobio’s bangs back with his hand and places a kiss on the man’s forehead. 

“I’m yours,” Hajime whispers but Tobio is already fast asleep.

The next day, Hajime shows up to training with a prominent bite mark over his Adam’s apple and it draws the curious glances of his (in Tobio’s words) fanclub the entire day. He feels smugness radiating off of Tobio as if the man looks any better. As if he isn’t sporting similar bite marks and patterned bruising on his own neck. Hajime had offered him Hajime’s own turtleneck Dri-fit but Tobio refused, choosing to bare his neck for everyone to see.

He has to give it to Tobio, though, the almost animalistic marking does its job. The needling and invitations and what he now recognises as attempts at flirting — how was pretending to be hurt flirting? Hajime still doesn’t understand — dwindles. Work becomes quieter, without Miya and Sakusa arguing about minor injuries and without Hinata and Hoshiumi pestering him about who jumps higher. When he leaves work, he leaves with his lover (lover, boyfriend, partner) with their hands intertwined and footsteps light as they walk back home together. 

**Author's Note:**

> how weirdly ironic that my neck HURT the entire time I was writing this. also, yes, that tiny mention of oikawa in the end, may I offer you iwaoikage? no?
> 
> god this started out as a 500 word dm in a group chat then it turned into this monstrosity. i hope you had fun reading me thirsting about tobio. also, disclaimer: do NOT fuck someone you are training and do NOT engage in breathplay unless you explicitly discuss it with ur partner first!! but this is fiction so iwaizumi ur on thin fuckin ice
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/SHIGAKIRA) I don't bite!!! (unlike these two lmao)


End file.
